


I'll Hold You Close

by goingtothetardis



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hair Washing, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Episode: s01e08 Father's Day, The Doctor's wearing clothes, shared bath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 12:12:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13717443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goingtothetardis/pseuds/goingtothetardis
Summary: The Doctor's determined to comfort Rose, even if it means going in fully clothed.





	I'll Hold You Close

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mollybrown816](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mollybrown816/gifts).



> This was written in response to a tumblr prompt from the giftee and an anonymous on tumblr: Having their hair washed by the other and taking a bath together. 
> 
> It's from the non-sexual intimacy prompt list reblogged by Doctorroseprompts. Hope you like this!!!
> 
> Unbeta'd.

The TARDIS tips the Doctor off to Rose’s distress, and he sprints toward her room without a second thought. He spares enough time for a quick knock on her door, but not bothering to wait for an answer, pushes it open and strides into her room. 

Looking around, his brow furrows in confusion when she’s nowhere to be found, but a broken sob from the ensuite has his feet moving toward the door before his brain has even registered the sound. 

Here, however, he pauses for a beat, then raps his knuckles gently against the door. “Rose? Are you okay?” 

Loud sniffling carries through the door, and water splashes a few times before Rose answers. “‘M fine, Doctor. Just takin’ a bath.”

The Doctor frowns. She doesn’t sound  _ ‘fine’, _ with her voice all warbly and shallow, and he rests his hand on the handle. “Rose, I… Can I come in?”

He holds his breath as he waits for it answer, but with a sigh, she responds. “Yeah, jus’... I’m completely starkers, so no looking until I say so.”

With a swallow, the Doctor pushes the door open and steps inside. His eyes widen when he discovers the TARDIS has provided Rose with a bathtub almost big enough to swim in. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the opposite end of the pool, and almost sighs in relief when he realizes the entire thing is filled with bubbles. 

“You can look at me, Doctor,” Rose says with amusement, though her voice sounds strained. “I’m under the bubbles.”

He looks, unable to keep himself from insuring she’s not been harmed, but he’s dismayed to find her face red and blotchy from tears. “Rose, what’s wrong?”

Tears spring immediately to her eyes at his question, and she wipes her hand across her face as they trickle down her cheeks. “I almost killed you today,” she whispers with a shuddering sigh. “I was so stupid and almost destroyed the universe. An’ then Dad had to… He had to fix my mistake, and he still died.  _ God, _ it’s all my fault.”

The Doctor moves forward and crouches against the edge of the pool. “Rose, no, it was my fault. I didn’t tell you the rules, and I’m the one who took you back a second time, when I  _ know _ I shouldn’t have.”

Even with his words of assurance, the pain and brokenness in her eyes when Rose raises them to meet his is like twin knives stabbing his hearts. Quickly shucking his leather jacket and undoing the laces to his boots and kicking them off his feet, he jumps into the water fully clothed. Her eyes widen at his sudden presence in the water beside her, and he shoves away the recognition of a bright flush covering her cheeks in favor of holding a hand out above the water to invite her into an embrace. 

Hesitating a moment, Rose eyes him warily, but then accepts his invitation and wraps her arms around his waist. Careful to maintain firm boundaries, he holds her tightly as she sobs into his now soaked jumper. He soothes her as best he can, running fingers through her wet hair and down her back while murmuring words of comfort and assurance. 

Several minutes pass before her sobs morph into soft hiccups of emotion, and she pulls back from him gently, biting her lip with a blush on her cheeks and averting her gaze. “You’re all wet,” she says, eyeing him up and down once before crossing her arms over her chest, even though the bubbles continue to protect her modesty. 

“Been in worse situations, me,” he replies. “Was once stuck in Mrtt’lk’um slime for over a week. It took  _ ages _ to clean my coat, an’ it took weeks to stop smelling like a dead river frp’poon.”

Rose giggles at this, and he’s sure her brilliant imagination has provided her with an amusing image. The moment quickly passes, however, and awkwardness settles heavily between them. 

“Um,” Rose starts, twisting a strand of wet hair between her fingers. “Was gonna wash my hair.”

Oh. Right. She’s still in her bath, and his presence here is no longer needed. “I’ll jus’... Do you want help washing your hair?” His eyes widen in surprise. That isn’t what he’d intended to say, but somehow, the words had slipped unbidden from his lips. 

Rose gasps at his question, but he doesn’t break her gaze as she studies him. Much to his surprise, however, she answers affirmatively. “Yeah, okay. Shampoo and conditioner are over there.”

His eyes follow her finger, and still in shock at the turn of events, he wordlessly grabs the bottles and places them on the edge within reach. With a soft command, he prompts Rose to turn around and tilt her head back. Using the glass pitcher he finds along the edge of the pool, he soaks her hair with water. 

After squirting a dollop of shampoo in his hand, the Doctor lathers Rose’s hair with painstaking care, using his fingertips to massage her scalp gently and clean every strand of hair on her precious head. She moans under his ministrations, and he can’t the surge of deep affection (and perhaps something else) at the sound. Still, he smiles, but doesn’t say anything, not quite trusting himself to speak at the moment. 

He rinses her hair, then repeats the process with the conditioner. Once he’s finished, and her hair floats neatly among the bubbles, he clears his throat and steps away. “I’ll jus’ go, now,” he says. “Need to find me some dry things.”

Turning, he wades through the water to the stairs (and  _ blimey,  _ the TARDIS must really love Rose, because not even his bathtub is this extravagant) and steps out of the small pool. Water streams down his body in rivers, and realizing he can’t walk through Rose’s room dripping water like this, he unzips his trousers and peels them off his legs before pulling off his soaked jumper. He gathers his clothes in his arms and makes his way out of the ensuite clad only in his pants. 

At the door, he turns and grins at Rose. “Didn’t want to make a mess.”

 


End file.
